


Mending Shattered Glass

by sherlocked93



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:41:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlocked93/pseuds/sherlocked93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The long awaited return of Sherlock Holmes. Relationships are mended. Things that were left unsaid will soon become known. Everything is as it should be... Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mending Shattered Glass

A tall, dark haired man walked down the quiet streets of London. It had been three long years since he had been able to walk freely with no disguise in place. He smiled to himself as he turned up his collar against the chilled air. People passed slowly, taking no notice of the man. Surprisingly, no one dared take a second look at the bruised and battered body of Sherlock Holmes. The detective had spent the last three years fighting tooth and nail to clear his name and keep those closest to him safe. It had taken longer than he had originally intended. Thankfully, he had finally been able to get everything settled and he was going home.

Sherlock turned down Baker Street, looking up at the familiar buildings around him. He paused upon reaching the step of 221b. Sherlock took a deep breath as he opened the door and silently stepped in. Shutting the door behind him, he inhaled deeply, taking in the smells of his old flat. He heard Mrs. Hudson popping about her kitchen, humming to herself. He smiled, deciding he would reveal himself to her later. He glanced up the stairs where he could hear John's footsteps. The doctor had a fire going, as well as the kettle on the stove. Soon, John would sit in his chair and thumb through the evening paper, looking for anything that may interest Sherlock. The man's habits had not changed in the least.

Finally, Sherlock took the first step of what seemed like many as he ascended the stairway silently. In a mere moment, he stood in the doorway of the sitting room. He watched as John turned the page of the paper, muttering to himself. In a few long strides, Sherlock was across the room, standing just behind John. He cleared his throat and took a step back as John lept from his chair with a short yell of surprise. John was quick to pull his pistol from the belt of his trousers.

Sherlock stood, eyes locked with his old friend's, arms raised slightly in surrender. "John... It's me," he stated simply.

"It can't be..." John muttered, lowering the gun from Sherlock's chest, trying to make sense of the figure he saw in front of him. "How are you here?" he yelled angrily. "My hallucinations have stopped. Ages ago. We'd taken care of that.... You can't be..." he stammered, scratching his head in confusion. What was going on? He had seen Sherlock return to his side so many times that this seemed the only logical explanation. It had been three years now. John's hope had faded long ago.

"This is no hallucination, John," Sherlock said softly. "There is a lot to be explained. I must apologize for the time. I was so hoping to have things sorted long before now," Sherlock finished speaking and attempted a small smile. He knew John's pain. He had heard every word that John had uttered at his grave over the years. This moment was not going to go smoothly. John's nature promised as much. Sherlock wouldn't be surprised if John stormed off in anger or hit him or burst into tears. Now, it was just a matter of which it would be. "Prepare your tea then, I will explain everything," he said as the kettle boiled, nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen.

John returned the gun to its original place in his belt then swung his arm back and planted a rather forceful blow to Sherlock's cheek, flooring the detective in an instant. John straightened his jumper and stepped over the man into the kitchen to shut off the kettle and fix two cups of tea. He glanced in at Sherlock who had definitely thinned and had had some hard times over the years. He sighed as he grabbed the cups and headed back.

Sherlock righted himself, smiling as he shrugged off his coat, hanging it up on its usual peg. He took a seat in his old chair and crossed his legs, folding his hands into his lap. He watched as John returned with two cups, offering one to Sherlock. He noticed John studying him intently as he took the cup. No doubt the doctor was still trying to decide if this was all in his head or not.

"Go on then," John stated as coldly as he could, doing a rather poor job of hiding a small grin with his teacup.

Sherlock grinned and sipped at his tea. He closed his eyes as the the warm liquid flowed comfortingly down his throat. He set his cup down and turned his eyes back to John. He leaned forward and began to explain all that had happened and why. 

The two men sat and talked for hours. John asking questions that would be quickly answered by the detective. John sat, listening intently, taking in every bit of information that Sherlock gave him. They went through three cups of tea before drowsiness soon crept upon the pair of them.

John looked to his watch at a quarter of three in the morning. He yawned instinctively and looked at Sherlock. "It is rather late. I believe I have all of my current questions answered. I deem it best that we both turn in," he stated, rising from the chair and stretching. He collected the teacups and placed them in the sink. Sherlock rose from his chair and watched John move about the room. The fire had died about an hour or so ago but neither were inclined to relight it. "Good to have you home," John said with a warm smile. "Sorry about the blow. I've been angry for a long time..."

"Good to be home," Sherlock responded, returning the warmth, clapping John on the shoulder. "Oh, not to worry. Was anticipating it actually," he beamed, walking to his room. With that, the two parted with a smile, entering their own rooms, happy and comfortable for the first time since Sherlock Holmes had left.


End file.
